


malted milk

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fantasizing, Female Solo, Fingering, Masturbation, One-Shot, PWP, mercedes just smells like baked goods and how can a girl resist it, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: oh, annette thinks, the things she'd do if she had mercedes, the things that mercedes might to do her.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21
Collections: Wank Week 2020





	malted milk

There were many beautiful things about Mercedes von Martritz. 

Annette had gravitated to them quickly; even when she was younger, before she knew what the heady rush of attraction could feel like. By the time they had reached Garreg Mach together, she could recite each charming feature off the top of her head, a song of florid praise she _knew_ could only fit quite right in her own mouth. Little would stop her doing so, stories of her older friend’s accomplishments and shining features told before she even thought of saying much about herself. When they had fought, and began to spend much less time together,Annette had mourned the loss of her ever-present countenance. 

The velveteen softness of her sand-blonde hair; pale eyelids flickering over dawn-blue eyes; slim, ever-cold hands covered in sewing-pricks which Annette would sometimes have the privilege of letting warm on the back of her neck. Each feature overwhelmed her, akin to how Annette had envisioned meeting the Goddess in her mortal form. She had felt their absence deeply, though she lacked the words to mourn their disappearance

Five years, Annette had found, did very little to still such thoughts. 

There had been changes, yes- where Mercedes’ hair had once cascaded over her shoulder, it had been chopped short, exposing the nape of her neck, and the prim propriety of her uniforms was substituted for the somehow _primmer_ propriety of a silken dress of the faith. But the kindness of her smile had not dimmed, despite the strain which had weighed on her for so long. The boughs of her arms were as accommodating as they’d always been, welcoming her to a home she never knew she’d find again. Nothing seemed capable of diminishing Mercedes’ beauty- not even the aching hurt of time itself. 

What time had done, it had enacted mostly on Annette. For her, the Battle of Garreg Mach had marked the last time she had truly felt young. Without the sanctity of youth, Annette had been left within the caresses of _newer_ feelings, more _difficult_ feelings, that of the flesh and the touch and the desire she had once solely articulated as the domain of the Goddess’ creation. In the turmoil of war, she had few safe ways to scratch those itches; and so she had resorted to fantasies, faceless and bare. 

As Annette had found, these two progressions got on like a house on fire. For when she’d met Mercedes again, sweet, cherished, _caring_ Mercedes, no precociousness had stopped her eyes from drifting to where fabric obscured the size of her bust, or where the motion of her steps pulled her blouse down at just the right angle so as Annette could see the soft un-sunned skin of her collarbones. It had only been the lingering tensions of their fight which negated Annette’s blossoming reckoning; in some sense, Annette regretted having solved their conflict, for she was divested of any reason to _not_ come closer to Mercedes. 

A closeness which always betrayed her. Eventually, Mercedes’ presence had worn her down, pushing past every barrier which Annette had gritted her teeth and erected. There were no simple meetings between the two of them; not for Annette, at least. Regardless of what she did in the day, Mercedes smelled perpetually of sweet pastries and honeyed-milk, and Annette could smell it on herself from the moment that they sat down together for tea to the moment she washed herself in the evenings. Annette could never help wondering if Mercedes was prescient of the time they would spend together, and made sure to mask whatever natural scent she had beforehand, as a hunter might do in stalking a deer. Which always made her both rather embarrassed- _how self-centered of her_ , to imagine that Mercedes did something so time-consuming simply to attract her- and greatly aroused. If Mercedes planned to hunt her- well, Annette found it hard to believe she’d be difficult quarry in the chase. 

It was with that scent on her skin that Annette had oft-indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. Though Mercedes was absent from her room, Annette found suitable substitute in the press of one hand to her nose, so long as it was one of the days when Mercedes had qualmlessly allowed Annette sundry gentle touches of her skin and her hair. She had hesitated in fingering herself at first, but her resistance on the matter had not been sufficient to keep up such an act, and soon her touches progressed away from simple self-caressing to filling herself knuckle-deep. Each time, Mercedes’ name was on her tongue, throttled only by the ragged breaths which came part and parcel with the new sensation. Each time, she’d wanted Mercedes with _her_. Letting her run parted lips over the soft peaks of her breasts, whimpering as she did, still only allowing Annette her full touch when she’d finished kissing her and touching her to satisfaction. Perhaps it was strange to dream about praising someone else- she had only known dreams as being a place where _others_ praised _you_ \- but the more Annette dwelled on the fantasies, the more mundane they became, and the more often she had sunk into them after a long day’s work.

Frequent indulgence made the effects harder to hide. Annette had found herself letting out the sharp and breathy mewls she’d envisioned the night before when Mercedes came to adjust how her dress sat around her wrist, resulting in her correcting herself with a face redder than a Leicester rose. The physical consequences could not be avoided, either. She often remained busy until the late night, and to extend the time before her sleep long enough for her to finish (always to Mercedes, sweet Mercedes) was to risk sleeping in so late as to miss the war councils. After the first few times, Gilbert had softly instructed others to brush it off as a girlish habit she’d carried on from her youth- something Annette was never quite sure whether she should feel embarrassed or relieved by. 

None of the consequences stopped her, however. She doubted that anything short of the real thing- from Mercedes or elsewhere (though Annette would always choose the former)- would, could, make her hands still when they were underneath the blanket of night. And though she supposed it could be easier to tell Mercedes, to offer herself up as a spoil of a chase Mercedes certainly didn’t know she’d initiated, the prospect of being rejected haunted her. If touching herself to such a dear friend was already such a secretive and shameful matter, then Annette had no desire to continue doing so past a rejection- even without Mercedes’ knowledge. 

If she wanted to continue, she would simply have to never speak on the matter. And there would be Mercedes, poised on the edge of her bed, spreading Annette’s thighs and commanding her to be still.

A consummate healer, both on and off of the battlefield. 

**Author's Note:**

> mercieannie nation RISE UP 
> 
> im on twt @ meowcosm !!


End file.
